
In 2019 I was still processing a pretty big trauma in my life. I was about a year into mentally and physically recovering from being kidnapped, raped and tortured for 4 days by narcissistic ex-boyfriend. On top of that I had a new job, I had moved into a new place in a new neighborhood and was constantly looking over my shoulder. Needless to say, my whole routine was pretty upside down.
Because I was still physically recovering from being attacked- I was definitely not in any shape to go back to running triathlons and I was still pretty discouraged by my body's limitations so I stopped even trying to go to the gym.
I was living alone, so grocery shopping and cooking was not at the top of my list. I began to rely on grabbing a quick bite on my way to work- and again on my way home. Not to mention the endless supply of snacks at the office.
I was starting to notice my jeans were a little tighter and I started letting out my bra straps a little bit. It was enough to be noticeable- but I was still within my comfort zone. It wasn't uncommon for me to fluctuate 5-7 pounds.
Instead of being mindful and settling back into a healthy routine - I chose to ignore the problem. Which, I have since learned, is a pretty classic symptom of un resolved trauma.
In March of 2020 when everyone else was in Covid lockdown and staying home learning new recipes to make everything from pizza crust to toilet paper out of cauliflower, and hitting a Chloe Ting Shred Workout- I got pneumonia, then strep throat, then Covid!
I spent 28 days alone, in agony, and exhausted, barely able to feed my cats let alone myself. It was brutal! And it depleted any of the willpower I had left. I was drained of everything! I had lost the will to fight for myself. I felt defeated.
After I recovered from, what seemed like the bubonic plague- I began to stress eat. Like a lot!
More than one friend would make comments about how I am always eating whenever we would video chat. My response to that was to stop video chatting and not pick up the phone if they called when I was snacking- which was basically always. My go to coping mechanism was grabbing a pizza and hanging out in the bathtub with my cat watching a movie. ( which by the way is still one of my favorite things to do- but its not longer a coping mechanism, it's a reward.) The most strenuous exercises I was getting was the once a week I would venture down the elevator, to the lobby to check my mail.
Very quickly that 7ish pounds became over 25 or honestly maybe even 30 or 40 pounds. I stopped weighing myself because I couldn't handle anymore shame. I couldn't even get my favorite skinny jeans up past my thighs let alone zipped and buttoned. In fact, my daily wardrobe quickly went from skinny jeans to leggings and it didn't take long before I traded my athleisure wear in for full on leisure wear - AKA nothing but sweats.
I saw pictures of myself and wanted to crawl out of my skin. I was the heaviest I had ever been in my life- I was in the worst health I had ever been in- I couldn't even walk up a flight of stairs without being winded. And it all happened so fast!
The body shaming began. I hated the 'teasing' I was getting from my family and friends - saying things like - "oohhhh looks like you've got more than an inch to pinch." "Wow - Looks like you put on the Covid 19 ....pounds." The worst part is, that I actually started to join in with self deprecating comments like "Oh you've lost 20 pounds, don't worry I've found them!" It was humiliating, and quite literally adding insult to injury.
People's commentary and my own negative self talk wasn't enough to motivate me to change. It just made me feel worse, and I doubled down on my unhealthy coping mechanisms. I didn't want to be chubby, I didn't want be unhealthy, I didn't want to feel sick, depressed, ashamed. But I also didn't feel motivated to change. Until my sister said something to me that actually made me want to take action.
I'll tell you what she said in a moment but first-I want to tell you why I was motivated by what she said.
I had felt as though I had lost control of my body and my habits. I felt as though I had lost control of my environment, and my fate was sealed. I didn't know who I was anymore. Trauma really does a number on your self esteem. It turns your world upside down and has you questioning everything. In an attempt to gain control of anything, we often shut out the things that are painful, even if we know they can help us in the long run, and we turn the things that will give us even an ounce of pleasure and certainty. For me, this pleasure and certainty was food. The problem is that it was both a reward and the source of more pain.
I was in a downward spiral of depression.
My depression and shame was stemming from grief. I was grieving the loss of my old self. My old body, my old workout habits, my old happiness.
I believed that was all gone and I could never have those things back. I felt helpless and hopeless.
What my sister said to me, gave me hope that it wasn't a lost cause- not because she encouraged me to undo the damage- but because she reminded me that the discomfort and despair I was feeling it wasn't the worst part.
Here is what she that changed everything:
"You're lucky- you're not used to being fat yet!"
I did a Double take. "Wait.... whaaa?!"
She confidently repeated herself...
"You're lucky - You're not used to being fat yet!"
I want to unpack this- but first a little context.
My sister has been what most would call chubby her whole life. I remember as a kid, adults would make comments that she just hadn't lost her baby fat yet ( at 6, 7 and even 10-12 years old) she was generally healthy- ate well and would run around like any other kid getting plenty of exercise. Her bone structure more closely resembles my 6'1" football playing father- more so than my 5'0" leprechaun-esque mother. Now don't get me wrong - she is quite feminine and she's beautiful, and funny, and smart AF and one of the strongest people I know- however she is not petite. But there was more going on here than just genetic make up.
What no one knew at the time was that throughout most of her childhood, she was being sexually abused. Not only was this confusing and traumatizing, the threats and intimidation from her abuser compounded the stress she was under. The added cortisol in her system, plus the stress eating she was secretly using as a coping mechanisms effected her weight tremendously.
This went on for years - until her teens where she was finally able to tell a friend, who encouraged her to speak up and stop the abuse. But in her mind (and brain) the damage was done. The coping mechanisms had become habits, the habits produced results, the results became beliefs and the beliefs became her identity.
In her mind- she is a fat girl. She has always been overweight. It was not uncommon for her to weight to fluctuate 20-30 pounds at any given time. She would change her habits and lose several pounds- in fact, one time she dropped 60 pounds in one summer - and had put half of it back on again by Halloween.
She is not just used to being fat - it is part of her identity.
In her own mind, being chubby, fat, overweight, having extra pounds, being a big girl, having thunder thighs and a back-rack (all her words by the way) was like having a suit of armor from her abuser. If she made herself undesirable physically, she had a belief that her abuser would no longer find her attractive and would leave her alone. Although this wasn't the case, her subconscious mind believed it was true and created an entire identity around this, because your subconscious minds job is to keep you safe first, and happy second. Read that again.
"Your subconscious minds job is to keep you safe first, and happy second."
So let's unpack what she said and how it changed my perspective not only about my body - but also about the 98 other problems I was facing.
First of all- she called me lucky! I was in a self depreciating shame spiral- cursing the world for all the ways it had wronged me. I sure as hell didn't feel lucky!
I have never been a fan of comparing myself to others, and I preach to my clients all day long about how to stop doing it. But I do it too- we all do. We all use others around us to gauge how normal we are- to set our moral compass, and to be accepted into a group- it's basic human survival instinct.
The problem is that we almost always compare ourselves to those who we think have it better than we do. We make ourselves feel like we aren't good enough. We shame ourselves.
My sister calling me 'lucky ' forced me to recognize that if I was going to compare myself to others that I had to look at both sides of the spectrum and at least accept that other people had it worse than I did.
Now I am NOT saying that you should invalidate your own feelings, emotions or experiences because there is always someone who has it worse than you do.
Tragedy is not a competition.
Most of the problems we struggle with in the western world are #firstworldproblems- but on our own spectrum they are uncomfortable and stressful- this is valid!
For me, evaluating someone else's perspective of how bad my life was (or really wasn't) allowed me to have some gratitude and even a little compassion for myself. I was lucky- I didn't have any major health problems, I was grateful to have survived 'almost murder,' and I was grateful that I was healing my body and my mind- and remaining aware of myself.
The next part: " You're not used to being fat."
She was right. I was uncomfortable! I wasn't used to it and I didn't like it. Hearing this made me realize that I didn't identify with this 'new me.' I didn't feel like myself.
I am all for loving and accepting ones self. I do believe we should have compassion for ourselves- no matter what shape that shows up in your body.
I believe that when we live in congruence with our own identity, is when we are the happiest. Happiness happens where how you feel and what you want collide.
Realizing that I wasn't used to being fat, meant that I didn't identify with it, and it gave me a choice. I recognized that I was in the middle between behaviors that had become habits; and beliefs that would become my identity. I could choose to alter my beliefs about myself and accept this new 'chubby' identity and love and accept myself- or I could change my behaviors and my habits that were producing my unfavorable results. I was choosing a path towards an identity that felt like it belongs to me.
In my case - I didn't want my old identity because that person fell victim to a narcissistic sociopath- however, I didn't want the identity of someone who felt defeated and was in my mind, unhealthy and miserable. So, I chose a new identity. I decided that I am someone who is healthy, with a veracious appetite for good and healthy food, who loves adventures and has an innate curiosity learning new things about how humans work.
All of my choices, such what to eat, how I exercise, my hobbies, my relationships and even how I earn my living are all aligned with this identity. I love and accept this identity and every single choice I make is based on whether it feels good to this new identity.
And last, but surely not least: She said 'yet.'
This tiny 3 letter world brought it all home. Yet.
I wasn't there yet! Meaning there was still time to undo the damage. I was still on my journey, I hadn't arrived at a final destination, and it wasn't too late to change my path.
Yet is one of those trigger words. It does create a sense of urgency. It makes you ponder the possibility of a different outcome. In my case an undesirable outcome.
Yet meant my fate wasn't sealed. Yet meant I could turn around. Up until that point I felt hopeless and helpless. 'Yet' gave me hope. It was a sliver of hope that gave me permission to act.
All of this hit home for me in a powerful way, and not just about my weight, but also about how I was feeling my body, and my mind while healing from trauma.
This one little sentence helped me understand that most, if not all, of my issues and problems where stemming from the fact that I kept ignoring them. And that I turned to coping mechanisms, instead solutions, and I fell down a dark hole.
Becoming mindful, seeing myself where I was at that moment, and accepting myself as a work in progress, understanding how I got there, and where I was heading, from a 30k foot view, is probably one of the most important lessons I have learned about changing anything in my life. And my sister laid that all out on the table in one sentence.
That one sentence gave me the courage to dust myself off and try again and become Resilient AF.

If you are struggling after Sexual Trauma, and your life feels like it's spiraling out of control, one of the best places to start is by building resilience. I created a workbook and planner called Resilient AF to help you do it by taking small steps everyday.
You can get your copy HERE
Remember, healing is a journey of a thousand destinations, you can choose your path!
XO
~ Arci
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